Charming Heathra - a novella companion to Dirty Lying Faeries

Holding On

Heathra

July, 1948

I sat in the uncomfortable chair, in the uncomfortable room, in the uncomfortable farm house. I bounced my leg with discomfort and impatience as I waited for Viola to come back. 

Next to me, Mama slept in her bed. Her sheets were freshly washed and her clothing freshly changed. That would be Viola who did that. Mama couldn't do it on her own anymore. She couldn't do anything on her own anymore. It was uncomfortable to watch, and the sensation of seeing her incapable of anything when we used to think her capable of everything was maddening. 

The door to Mama's room creaked open and my head snapped up to see Viola walking in. Despite her smile, her eyes were puffy and red. My sister sat down on the other side of our mother and took her hand.

"What did Dr. Bowen say?" I asked softly.

Viola shook her head. "Not in front of Mother."

We sat in silence a while longer. Viola was watching Mama like a hawk. The rise and fall of her chest was so shallow. My sister pulled the thin quilt up over her shoulders and busied herself making sure the bedside table was stocked with handkerchiefs and water. 

I bounced my leg, not knowing what else to do until Viola was ready to talk about it. Eventually, that little tick of a vein began pulsing in Viola's temple and she was clenching her jaw. I had annoyed her enough to speak.

"Let's go into the kitchen." Viola set Mama's hand down gently and left the room with a sigh.

I got up and followed her out, glancing back one more time to see that Mama was still asleep.

Viola walked briskly into the kitchen, pulling the tea pot from under the kitchen sink and taking it to the sink to fill with water. I frowned and took a seat at the kitchen table. The last time Viola made me tea was when Papa died. Neither of us really even like tea, it's just her way of handling bad news.

Viola put the water on the stove and sat in the chair across from me. Now we wait. She wouldn't say anything until the water was done, and neither would I.

A cough from the other room caused us both to tense. Mama's coughing seemed to grow harsher each time I heard it. She settled back down after a moment, and we resumed our silence. Viola pursed her lips, sitting in deep thought until the whistle of the kettle snapped her out of it. 

"Oh!" She scooted her chair out and ran to the stove. 

I got up myself and reached for the sugar bowl and set it on the table. I couldn't shake the frown from my lips as Viola poured the tea. She filled our cups and slid one to me before putting the kettle back on the stove. She sat down and blew into her cup, not meeting my eyes.

"What did the doctor say?" I asked.

She pursed her lips and started playing with the rim of her cup. "Her emphysema is making the bronchitis worse. I don't know how she keeps catching it, even in the warm months. That or it's just a really inflated cold."

"Do we keep doing her breathing treatments like always?" I asked. 

"Yes, and keep trying to get honey and lemon in her if we can. Her throat is raw from all the coughing," Viola replied.

"Didn't Dr. Bowen say that emphysema wasn't fatal?" I asked, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. 

"Well, he did. But it makes her more susceptible to lung problems. An unwell person could be... could be killed with a good bought of pneumonia. So if Mama were to get it, it would be even worse because she already can't breathe." Viola brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, trying and failing to hide the fact that she had tears falling. "Dr. Bowen says Mama is his worst case of emphysema. Even the other doctors at the university don't have patients worse than Mama."